


Sublime

by IncandescentAntelope



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Established Relationship, Facials, Fluff, M/M, Makeup, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 22:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope/pseuds/IncandescentAntelope
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is returning to the ice for the 2017 Grand Prix Series after his season off and asks Yuuri to help him with his makeup for his first event back under the lights.





	Sublime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mnad96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnad96/gifts).



> This is a request for my new friend Maha! I had a lot of fun writing this fic with her request! Hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it! 
> 
> Viktor’s Program - [Stravinsky’s Firebird suite](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9oaS_qvYc0), 6:40-end  
> Yuuri’s Program - [ Dean Fujioka - Permanent Vacation](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4uPUSM1BUQ)
> 
> Beta-d by [ Lauriana25](http://archiveofourown.com/users/Lauriana25)

**I**

_“Yuuri! Have you seen my charger?”_ Viktor called from the living room, the needling whine that usually accompanied a minor inconvenience.

“It’s already packed, Vitya.” Yuuri called back, running back through the packing list. Miraculously, both he and Viktor had been assigned the same events of the Grand Prix Series that year, Skate America being the first.

 _“But my phone’s dead Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuri!”_ Viktor’s voice carried into the bedroom, where two suitcases laid open on the floor, Yuuri’s half-full of training clothes and Viktor’s messily filled to the brim with outfits for every possible eventuality; including but not limited to, a three-piece suit, sinfully tight jeans and a crop-top (“What if we go clubbing, Yuuri?!”), and a truly worrisome lack of things to wear on the ice… and an obvious need for at least a few more pairs of underwear. 

“Viktor, it’s barely past noon, how is your phone _already_ dead?” Yuuri asked when he felt the weight of his fiancé’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, the pout of his lips against the exposed nape of his neck.

“Instagram.” Viktor said simply, as if that was any sort of explanation.

“Instagram is the reason your battery is dead?” Yuuri deadpanned, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and opening up the application, scrolling to Viktor’s most recent post. 

_image: a silhouetted photo of a messy mop of black hair, very obviously Yuuri, wrapped in a rumpled sheet with his mouth half-open. His hand is gently placed on the pillow beside his cheek, his ring caught glinting in the early morning sun. The sky behind him through the window is a brilliant magenta and orange at the horizon, the Saint Petersburg skyline glittering and bright._

**74,089 likes**  
**v-nikiforov** getting our beauty sleep in before #SkateAmerica this weekend! excited to take the ice again after my season off!!! ⛸️🇺🇲🥇  
#gps2017 #katsukiyuuri #sleepingbeauty #ilovemyfiancésomuch #heissocuteicoulddie #marrymeyuuri

_view all 5,709 comments_

Yuuri flushed bright red as he read the hashtags his fiancé had curated for such an embarrassing photo, his cheeks burning.

“V-V-V-Viktor!” Yuuri squeaked, nearly dropping his phone into his half-packed suitcase. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?!” 

“Because I knew you’d say no. And I thought it was a nice photo.” Viktor replied simply, easy as breathing. Yuuri had to agree, it was a nice photo. If he removed himself from said photo, he would have liked it in a heartbeat. It was intimate, kind. If a photo taken with a phone camera could be described as intimate or kind. It wasn’t an unflattering photo by any means, his hair was messy, but his skin looked soft and his ring looked like it was glowing in the dark. 

“I- it’s a nice photo. I like it.” Yuuri admitted softly. “But I’m not going to _like_ it.”

“Awwww, Yuuuuuri! Why not?” He whined like a kicked puppy, falling backwards onto the bed like a Victorian waif, a hand draped over his eyes with splayed fingers.

“It’s a photo of me, Vitya! I can’t like a photo of myself.” Yuuri explained, already typing up a comment on the photo.

“What are you saying, Yuuuuuuri?” He leaned up on his elbows, an eyebrow cocked playfully.

“Not all of us are vain enough to like photos of ourselves, Living Legend- _saaan_.” Yuuri teased back, pocketing his phone and turning on his heel. 

“Vain? Oh, Yuuri. You wound me.” Viktor feigned insult as he leveled a lidded stare back at him.

“Are you trying to distract me from packing, Vitya? Our flight leaves first thing in the morning…” Yuuri tapped his lips thoughtfully as he sauntered across the room and crawled into Viktor’s lap.

“Perhaps.” Viktor replied simply, a crooked smile spread across his face.

 **christophe-gc** si belle! see you both in New York! 😘  
**viktor-step-on-me** WELCOME BACK TO THE SKATING WORLD VIKTOR I LOVE YOU LET ME HAVE YOUR BABIES  
**yuri-plisetsky** can u not post pics of ur pet pig in bed? disgusting  
**phichit+chu** @katsuki.yuuri did you approve this? lolol 😂😂  
**katsuki.yuuri** @phichit+chu Definitely not.  
**katsudamn** thank you, kamisama, for blessing us with this glorious photo  
_view more comments_

...

Yuuri whined as he slid out, Viktor’s body still fluttering around his hyper-sensitive flesh. A mass of clothes (both freshly washed and freshly removed from writhing bodies in the heat of the moment) laid strewn about on the floor, their suitcases no more packed than they had been an hour ago.

“Excellent distraction tactic, Vitya.” Yuuri groaned as he curled into the space between Viktor’s shoulder and ribs, a long wrapped around his waist and pulled him close, nuzzling softly at a sweaty temple.

“I didn’t hear you complaining earlier, Yuuuuuri.” Viktor laughed, pushing his fringe back off his forehead, something he only did when they were alone. His forehead would always be a sore spot, despite Yuuri’s near constant reassurance that his hair wasn’t thinning, and when he had gotten a bit more drunk than he had planned, told him about the wet dream he’d had featuring that long silver ponytail. Viktor hadn’t let him live that down.

“I’ll never complain about that.” Yuuri blushed as his eyes wandered to Viktor’s plump, kiss-bitten lips, just slightly parted as he came down from his high. Late afternoon sunlight spilled over their bed and caught in his eyelashes, casting the silver a lustrous gold. Yuuri’s fingers found their way to the marble-carved features of his fiancé’s face. Viktor sighed happily as those tender touches glanced over his lips, tracing his eyebrows, running along his jawline and cheekbones.

Yuuri wanted to create a roadmap of every dip and curve and line of Viktor’s face, the smile lines that the older man would rather not think about, but that Yuuri loved to pull out of him. 

“Yuuri, you remember I taught you how to do your makeup for Eros?” Yuuri flushed at the memory of utter confusion as Viktor sat him down in front of a mirror, a bag full of tubes and bottles in his lap. (In hindsight, it was an incredibly simple look, just a winged cateye and a sheer lip balm with minor concealer touch ups, only really branching out into a smokey eye for the final.)

“Yes, why?” Yuuri asked, his voice still thick with sex. Viktor's smile was soft and warm, his breaths low and deep as they ghosted over Yuuri's passing fingertips.

“I was wondering if you’d like to do my makeup, for my short program. I’ve got a few ideas-” Yuuri’s spluttering interrupted him, and Viktor didn't miss the interesting combination of flustered and something like excitement that flashed over his features. 

“M-m-m-me? Do _your_ makeup? Viktor, why don’t you ask Mila? Or Georgi? They'll be there, I’m sure they’d-” Viktor swallowed his protest with a kiss, Yuuri instantly softening against him; it was the most effective way to stop the spiraling before it starts. Yuuri hummed happily as Viktor lazily deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue over Yuuri's bottom lip. They lost themselves in the warm slide of tongue over tongue, in quickening breaths and spent flesh coming back to life.

Viktor broke the kiss, much to Yuuri's displeasure, and he whined to make that displeasure known. The Russian chuckled lightly as he pressed a kiss to Yuuri's nose.

“Yuuri, will you do it? I really want you to.” he whispered, his eyes bright and blue in the late afternoon light. “Please?”

Viktor Nikiforov wanted him to do his makeup for his comeback, his return to the ice. _Him_. Katsuki Yuuri. Dime-a-dozen Katsuki Yuuri. When he could easily hire a professional, or even have Georgi do it. He wanted Yuuri to do it. 

“Okay.”

“Really? You'll do it?” Viktor squealed, sitting bolt upright, nearly knocking Yuuri off the bed with the sudden movement.

“Yes. I'll do it. But, can you show me what you want me to do? I want to make it perfect for your return.” Viktor wrapped his arms around him again and pulled him down to the bed, showering his face and throat and chest with exuberant and wet kisses.

Their suitcases weren't packed until after dinner.

**II**

The shower had cut off a few minutes ago, leaving their shared hotel suite with an eerie air of silence that seemed to cling to everything. The day had finally come, the day Viktor took the ice again, the day he’d skate out to thunderous applause instead of being the one holding the tissues behind the barrier. And Yuuri was somehow a part of that… of this great return, the revival of a god.

Yuuri’s theme for the year was Life, his new life in Russia, his ever-evolving life with his coach-slash-rival-slash-fiancé and the life he left behind. Despite moving away from Japan and training with Viktor in Russia, he was still in touch with his roots and proud of his heritage, which Viktor had encouraged him to embrace and proudly showcase with his programs for the Grand Prix Series. While Yuuri still found it strange to be picking his own music, and after a few polite but firm dismissals of his ideas, Yuuri simply shoved his headphones in and hit shuffle. When an upbeat j pop song filled his ears and the choreography seemed to come without a second thought, he knew he had found the right song for his short program. 

His costume was designed in a similar fashion to something he had seen the artist wearing on Instagram. He couldn’t help but notice how much it resembled his uniform from his school days, a high-collared back jacket and black trousers, the only difference being a brilliant blaze of gold wrapped around his throat and running down the front of the jacket on either side of a row of golden buttons. An intricately woven thatch of golden branches and leaves twisted around his chest to his back, where the glittering pattern spread wide over his shoulders and curled to an end in the small of his back. 

Yuuri brushed on the finishing touch of his rather simple look, a winged cat eye and a flash of gold on his lids, matching the accent of his jacket. Their costumes were already waiting for them at the arena, at his coach’s insistence. Yuuri supposed it was probably a good thing to have a world-renowned figure skating legend in the flesh arranging things for him, it took a great bit of anxiety off his shoulders, given his track record with panicking at events. But with Viktor at his side, both as his coach and his rival… he could breathe a bit easier. 

The bathroom door swung open as Viktor stepped out in his Team Russia warm up gear, his hair still slightly damp. He found his seat on a small stool by the vanity, smiling brightly at Yuuri, who blushed at the way Viktor looked in the solitude of their hotel suite. This moment, this quiet before they took the ice as competitors again… it felt so strange and foreign. Their dynamic hadn’t shifted much since his fiancé had announced his return, but a small part of Yuuri was still flabbergasted that Viktor Nikiforov was sitting there, staring at him with the crystalline blue eyes that had captured his attention all those years ago. 

Viktor, the man at the top of every podium, the man on everyone's mind, was sitting right there, asking Yuuri, yes _Yuuri_ , to do his makeup. He took a slow, focused breath and reached for the bag Viktor had packed for him, with just the products he needed. He had sent Yuuri a few helpful reference photos, and more than a few YouTube tutorials.

As the breath passed his lips, he nodded at the bed, his hair still soft and ungelled. (Viktor had asked if he could do his hair for him, which Yuuri gladly agreed to; it was a calming, centering act that helped him sink into competition mode and block out the ringing anxiety in his ears.) Viktor cocked his head to the side with a small, questioning noise. 

“I… I want to be able to sit with you, Vitya.” Yuuri added quietly, his cheeks flushing already. He was being included in the Living Legend's competition preparations. It went without saying that this was a dream come true for the Japanese skater, something so deep and closely held that it scarcely felt real. To be given the chance to touch the face of a god in flesh, to dance his fingertips over that sharp jawline, to bring color to his rosebud-colored lips… it was nearly too much to think. A small but loud part of Yuuri's mind had forgotten all the times he had touched Viktor before now, as well as the fact that he had woken up with Viktor's lips wrapped around him that morning. But there he was, Viktor Nikiforov, standing with a gentle smile and pressing a kiss to his half-open mouth. 

“Of course. Anything for my lovely makeup artist.” He teased gently, taking the small, black bag of products from his hand. Yuuri watched as Viktor sat in the middle of the bed, his legs splayed in a wide V, the cosmetic bag between his legs. “Yuuri?” Viktor asked as Yuuri met him on the bed.

“Hm?” The Japanese skater hummed, settling between Viktor's outstretched legs, tucking himself into his fiancé's orbit, pulled in like gravity. 

“Where are all the brushes?” Viktor murmured, no louder than a whisper. Yuuri found himself mere inches from those plush lips, Viktor's slow breaths ghosting over his lips and cheek.

“I want to touch you.” Yuuri returned, small and soft. A noise that sounded like a combination of surprise and awe rolled into one fell from Viktor's mouth, a noise that Yuuri greedily swallowed. The closeness burned, a low simmering arousal rolling just underneath his skin; a sensation he knew had passed to his partner too, a hungry moan escaping into his mouth as they kissed. The older man grabbed Yuuri's lower lip with his teeth like a prize, pulling at the flesh and savoring the whining sounds it yielded.

“V-Vitya, my lipstick…” Yuuri choked, his eyes glazed with lust behind his glasses.

“Guess you'll have to reapply it, _zolotse_.” Viktor rasped as Yuuri pulled away. “You look beautiful.” He added, his smile fond and admiring. Yuuri flushed a bit as he leaned back, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards with Viktor's tender words.

“Thank you, Viktor.” Yuuri murmured, pressing another kiss to his lips and carefully wiping away the transferred lipstick from Viktor's lips. He plucked the first product from the bag between them, reminding himself that even if it wasn't perfect, he was still the one touching Viktor. He had been trusted with this. And that swelled proudly in his chest. 

Yuuri carefully dragged the black pencil over Viktor’s lid and waterline, the way he’d been practicing in his mind for the past few days (and in the bathroom when Viktor wasn't paying attention). His heart skipped at the sight of Viktor’s fair silver eyelashes, so lush and soft and perfectly curled, they looked like tiny wings, silken and celestial. 

“I love your eyelashes, Vitya. So pretty.” Yuuri mumbled quietly as he worked, and Viktor sank into the gentle affirmation like quicksand. Ringed by the black kohl, his eyes looked like the tide pools he and Mari had explored as kids, bright and blue and teeming with life. Those eyes sparkled with glee when Makkachin did something cute, or when Yuuri complimented him, and those eyes smoldered with blistering heat when he pleaded for _'more, Yuuri, please more!’_ He shuddered with the memory of his voice rough with the gravel of his first language calling his name in the heat of the moment. 

He set the pencil back in the bag, keeping his eyes trained on Viktor's closed ones. How he managed to stay still during all of this was completely beyond Yuuri, knowing his own tendency to flinch when others touched his face, especially his eyes. Perhaps it was over a decade of being sat in salon chairs, coiffed and fussed over by professionals. But something about the soft curve of his mouth, peaked in a half smile… he knew that Viktor was enjoying this just as much as he was. Yuuri focused on carefully sweeping his fingers over the dark lines he had created, leaving a smeared creation that looked like Viktor had slept with his makeup on. (Which had happened more than a few times.) The smudged black looked like ash, and when he instructed Viktor to open his eyes, he nearly gasped. He was looking into the cores of twin stars, burning bright and blue against a swath of black. 

“You’re staring, love.” Viktor whispered with a smile, fluttering those eyelashes.

“I… I know.” Yuuri admitted, nearly unable to move with the weight of those eyes on him. Viktor chuckled softly and shut his eyes again, breaking the trance. 

_What was this otherworldly creature that he had chosen to be with Yuuri?_

Viktor held perfectly still despite how badly he wanted to pull Yuuri's body down on top of his, to throw the competition and instead lavish in the soft touch of Yuuri's fingers and the gentle humming noises he made as he worked, the Russian skater lifting one eyelid to see a pink tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated. Yuuri gently tapped a few spots of concealer into the soft flesh under his eyes and on the button of his nose, and over the silvery-pink scar in the cleft of his chin, where an overzealous Makkachin had gotten a bit too rough when she was a puppy. He blended it all with the tip of his finger, a touch lighter than air.

“Your skin is so soft, Vitya…” the older man died a little inside as Yuuri complimented him so sweetly, the gentle lilt of his voice soothing and arousing at the same time. “So smooth and soft.” Yuuri cooed. He was smoothing away Viktor’s imperfections, just like he always did. His presence smoothed away his uglier tendencies, simply being with him was enough to reign in the pride, the jealousy. A rush of gentle breath fell from his lips as Yuuri pulled away to inspect his work, a soft, happy noise filling his throat.

Yuuri cleaned his finger with a sweet-smelling wipe and dipped his finger into the pot of pearlescent highlighter that Viktor had utterly fallen in love with, (and bought an embarrassing amount of) before swiping that finger over the high cut of his cheekbone, which was already quite defined. But with the shine of the highlight, he looked… perfect. Yuuri hummed appreciatively at the way the luminescent powder sharpened the line there, how it made the carved marble perfection look like a heavenly creation, the shimmer catching and throwing light in a way that nearly stopped Yuuri's heart. 

“ _Kanpekina_ , Vitya.” Yuuri praised in Japanese, “You look beautiful.” Viktor preened at the gentle praise, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Only because you're making it so.” 

“Shhh. Stop talking.” Yuuri shushed Viktor again, pressing his finger to his lips, which always seemed so unfairly smooth and plump, soft and warm under his touch. Yuuri shuddered at the memories of those lips against his, against his skin, those lips whispering praise, both on the ice and in bed, the lips that had told him he loved him so many times he'd lost track. Yuuri pulled out the light pink lipstick, a shade only slightly pinker than the natural rosy tone of his lips. _Sublime 096_ , the tube read. He, again, swiped his finger over the soft tip, gathering the pigment and warming it with his touch. He began gently dabbing the color onto Viktor's lips, which were pouted and full for Yuuri to cover completely. 

Viktor nearly moaned at the gentle affection that Yuuri showed him as he worked, and how different this felt from applying the makeup himself. This felt reverent, as if Yuuri was worshipping him with his fingers and drowning him in soft, fleeting touch. Yuuri slowly swept the color over his lower lip, and Viktor rolled his lips together out of habit. Yuuri made a small ‘oh’ sound as he did this, his eyes fluttering open to see his fiancé's hand half-raised and ready to continue. 

“ _Mne zhal'_ , Yuuri. I'm sorry. Please. Go on?” Viktor hurried to apologize with a strained rasp, his throat suddenly dry at the thought of disappointing Yuuri. 

“It-it's fine, I just… I wanted to tell you to do that. I'm your makeup artist, after all. Aren't I?” Yuuri asked, his own voice a bit hoarse and strained. His fiancé had been staring at his cupid's bow for a few moments, the soft curve of flesh there that always seemed to capture his attention. 

“Yes, you are.” Viktor crooned with a smile. Yuuri’s touch set his heart on fire, the tender graze of his fingers over his skin melting him to the very core. The idea of just skipping the short program became more and more appealing as Yuuri continued softly swiping that rosy color over his lips, the sleek line of his eyeliner giving him an undeniably feline appearance. The pointed corner of his mouth cocked up when Viktor felt his adam’s apple bob with a thick swallow. He was suddenly very aware of the tight constraints of his dancer’s belt, the distinctly uncomfortable pinch as his cock twitched at the way Yuuri’s amber eyes glinted down at him. 

“Hm?” Yuuri hummed as he pressed the pigment onto the arch of his cupid’s bow.

“N-nothing.” Viktor replied, keeping his lips as static as he could, he didn’t dare move from under the touch, that impossibly erotic caress. 

Yuuri felt the rush of breath pass through Viktor’s nose, a minute clench of his thigh, the way he always did when _“now really isn’t the time, Yuuuuuuri”_. The simmering heat in Yuuri’s core nearly erupted at that, confidence sparking in his belly. Satisfied with Viktor’s plush, pinked lips, he capped the tube and tucked it back into the bag, brushing the back of his hand over the smooth bulge of Viktor’s cock trapped in his belt, smirking at the hissed breath that shifted into a groan. 

“Y-Yuuri…” Viktor moaned as the smaller man moved the black pouch out of the way and crawled further into his lap, wrapping his legs around his waist and locking his ankles together in the small of his back. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, those perfectly white teeth gnawing on that freshly painted flesh. 

“Yes, Viktor?” Yuuri returned as he ducked into the crook of his throat, nosing at the pale blue vein running the length of that marble column, a shuddering sigh falling from Viktor’s painted lips. “What is it?” Yuuri asked with a teasing lilt as he flicked his tongue over that spot just below his earlobe, that delicate skin there, grinding the swell of his ass unsubtly against Viktor’s straining erection.

“ _Gospodi_ , sweetheart, f-fuck-” Viktor moaned and Yuuri’s arousal thrummed thick and heady in his veins, the usually silky smooth timbre of his voice was rough and thick in his throat.

“You know we can’t play before a competition, _Kōchi_.” Yuuri taunted in a whisper, his breath ghosting over Viktor’s pulse point as the Russian swore under his breath again.

“Katsuki Yuuri, you filthy tease. Foiled by my own rules, hm? How cruel of me.” Viktor’s laugh was stilted and jumpy, the gravel of his accent emerging the way it always did when he was aroused. “At least spare a foolish man with a kiss?” Viktor whispered, his breaths evening out and slowing.

“And smear your lipstick? Not a chance.” Yuuri replied with a smile as he sat up, meeting Viktor’s eyes, still heavy-lidded and glassy with lust. “I’d be very disappointed if I had to recreate all of this because you can’t control yourself, _Vik-tooo-ruuu_.” Yuuri enunciated each syllable with soft lips and wet tongue, the older man’s eyes rolling back at the taunt.

“So you aren’t going to take responsibility for this, Yuuuuuri? I thought my rules were cruel.” Viktor grabbed Yuuri's hand and thrust it against the prominent bulge in his pants, his hips canting into the touch.

"I will." Yuuri smirked, swiping his thumb over the smudged pigment to correct it. "Tonight."

**III**

"YUURI!" Viktor called over the ice as Yuuri gently picked up an adorable plush poodle, waving with a perfect smile at the crowd, still applauding his truly spectacular performance. “That was beautiful!”

"Vitya, control yourself!" Yakov snapped, gripping his shoulder and pushing him back into his seat. "You’re a World champion, don’t go making a fool of yourself. You still have your skate yet."

"As his coach, I'm entitled to show how proud of him I am!" Viktor returned, crossing his arms like a petulant toddler, facing his coach as the corners of his mouth turned down.

"And as your competition, I suggest you keep that pretty face in check." Yuuri teased, his breaths coming a bit harder than he had hoped, neither coach realizing when he'd made it to them. "I'd hate for you to lose presentation points after I put all that work in." Yuuri ran a gentle fingertip down the line of his jaw, a hooded eye winking as he pulled his coach into the Kiss and Cry for his scores.

The American announcer predictably butchered his name, saying something that sounded vaguely like “Katsooki”. The screens read 109.76. He felt Viktor's arms wrapped around him tightly, giddily congratulating him on a beautiful performance with a wide smile.

“I’d kiss you, Yuuri, but I wouldn’t dare make a mess of my makeup.” Viktor whispered low in his ear as pulled him into a hug. Too soon, that had warmth disappeared, a red and white jacket draped over his lap. Yuuri shivered as he watched the shade of Viktor’s competition façade fall over his features, that glittering smile a pale comparison to the one Yuuri knew to be Viktor’s genuine smile, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes, the one that showed too many of his teeth. A chill ran down his spine as Viktor flipped his hair in that perfectly suave way.

“ _Davai_ , Vitya!” He called, his voice cracking at the edges. Those kohl-ringed eyes flashed at him like a dare over his shoulder. _'Watch me’_ , those eyes said, and Yuuri couldn’t have fought it if he tried.

Every ounce of breath in Yuuri’s lungs was pressed out as he watched Viktor gliding out onto the ice in his costume; it was every bit as beautiful as the first time he had seen the mockups. Viktor’s programs for the season were thematic of rebirth, specifically his short program. The final movement of Stravinsky’s Firebird suite, Viktor triumphantly rising from the cold darkness of his absence, was about to begin. The gentle thrum of the violins rang over the ice as Viktor took his first position, the crowd’s screams nearly deafening. 

Yuuri’s grip tightened around the plush in his arms, feeling the way he did as a child, seeing Viktor skate for the first time. His eyes fell to the flash of his skates, sliding through the delicate step sequence, his movements so light over the ice it was as though he were floating, his skates made of golden gossamer rather than steel.

Yuuri could only stand with his mouth agape, clutching that stuffed dog to his chest at the sight of his fiancé, broad and proud at center ice. The costume faded from black and red at his skates up to his knees, the still-hot ash of his season away faded to orange and gold up his chest, swirling red patterns on his back up to his shoulder blades. Viktor’s arms splayed out as the music grew louder, the long lines of his limbs wrapped in sleeves so tight they looked painted on, the red and orange around his shoulders and upper arms fading into silvery pink and white, a blistering heat that Viktor had explained to him simply; 

“I’m reaching new heights, Yuuri. Reaching toward new life. And it’s all because of you.” he had pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s ring finger before throwing himself back into practice, a determination burning behind his eyes that he hadn’t seen before. Viktor was a phoenix rising again, a burst of flame so brilliant the image burned itself into the minds of everyone who witnessed it.

Viktor’s heart soared as his blades bit into the ice again, the rush of adrenaline surging under his skin in time with the growing swell of the music. He caught a glimpse of that black and gold costume, of Yuuri clutching a brown plush to his chest. He knew he was watching. And he could feel his attention, he could still feel the ghosting touches of Yuuri’s fingers on his lips, over his cheeks, the press of his body against his. Yuuri was there, on the ice with him. And that pushed him ever forward.

Yuuri was enthralled, as was every pair of eyes in the arena, by the creature being reborn on the ice, wrapped in heat and flame and passion and frenzy as the music swelled around him. His body flew with ease through the dizzying triple flip, triple salchow, triple loop, an ambitious combination, even for the great Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri’s mouth fell even further open at the sight of Viktor’s form leaned into an impossibly stretched Ina Bauer and camel sit spin. 

“It’s… it’s like he never left…” Yuuri heard himself saying, earning him a proud, throaty chuckle from Yakov. He knew it then without a shadow of a doubt. _This_ was the Viktor he had striven to surpass.

As the music reached its crescendo, Viktor pulled out of his spin, making a long, loping pass of the ice, the sound of the crowd fading from both his and Yuuri’s ears as he launched into and landed his signature quadruple flip, those compelling, darkened cerulean eyes burning as he met Yuuri’s enraptured gaze, the Russian dropping to his knees, his hand splayed out towards Yuuri.

The crowd erupted, but neither heard them. Yuuri stood utterly frozen to the floor as Viktor rose from his knees, his chest heaving with the exertion, a sheen of sweat glistening along with the pearly shine of his cheekbones. Viktor plucked a rose from where it had fallen at his feet, giving one last sweeping wave before he pushed off the ice and into Yuuri’s arms. Yakov was saying something but Yuuri didn’t hear it, and neither did Viktor. The pair somehow ended up on the Kiss and Cry couch, sharing it with Yakov as his scores were read.

“... announcing the scores for Viktor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri sidled up beside Viktor, his eyes straining to read the scores without the assistance of his glasses. 

“111.43. Nikiforov leads the board after the Short Program, Katsuki in second at 109.67, Giacometti in third at...”

The frown on Yakov’s face was nearly audible on its own, the wrinkles between his eyes deepening as he rambled on in his growling Russian. But as usual, Yakov Feltsman’s skater didn’t hear a word of the reprimand, instead wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss, a quick and fleeting thing. He gave Yuuri the rose in his hand, a gesture that he was sure would be screen-capped and posted all over social media in moments. But Yuuri saw the look in his eye, just a flash.

Viktor quickly broke the moment, waving at the camera and thanking the audience in rapid Russian before switching to English and his adorably mangled Japanese.

Yuuri read and re-read that number a thousand times, frozen in his seat.

That was only 1.67 points. 

He could still win.

That look in Viktor’s eye told him that he knew that too.

**IV**

“Viktor! Viktor! Are you worried your skater will pull ahead? What’s it like to be coaching a competitor?” Yuuri shifted his weight uncomfortably, these questions always found their way under his skin and Viktor could tell. He pulled the zipper of his jacket up to his lips, tucking the lower half of his face into the black material. Viktor flashed the camera over the reporter’s shoulder a bright smile. Yuuri could sense the agitation rising in Viktor too, in the tiniest clench of his jaw.

“Nothing has changed in how I coach Yuuri. I still push him to be his best, at the same time that I push myself to be my best. I always hope for my protege to succeed. And besides, why wouldn’t I want my competition in top form? Where’s the fun in that?” Viktor laughed and wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s waist. “I’m looking forward to the Free Skate. I’ve got quite the battle to reclaim my crown, now that someone’s risen to the top in my absence! Now, I need to debrief with my skater. No further questions.” Viktor replied placidly, taking Yuuri’s hand and striding away from the hoard of reporters and cameras.

“Thank you, Vitya.” Yuuri murmured, settling into a quick, matched pace as they walked to the locker room. Viktor’s grip around his hand was tight, almost painful. Possessive, his mind supplied. In the dimly lit back hallways of the arena, the shimmer of Viktor’s highlighted cheekbones gleamed even brighter, the sparse light casting shadow under the sharp jut of his features, his eyes front and focused.

“Of course, Yuuri.” Viktor replied quickly, his pace picking up as they neared their private dressing room. “After you.” he whispered as he pulled the door open. "Yuuri, how are you feeling?” He asked when the door swung shut behind them, quickly flipping the lock and pulling Yuuri into a warm embrace against his chest. “Don't pay too much attention to those questions, you know they're going to try and-"

"Vitya." Yuuri interrupted. "Stop trying to act like my coach."

"But I _am_ your-"

"Not right now. You're just Viktor… okay?" his painted lips turned upward in a wide smile, pressing a soft kiss to Yuuri’s forehead, leaving a pink shadow of his lips there.

"If you say so, _lyubov moya_. So, how are you feeling?" He murmured low and sweet against Yuuri's still-warm skin.

"I feel… like I really want to kiss you." Yuuri’s voice dropped into those silky, dulcet tones that made Viktor’s skin crawl. 

Viktor laughed gently, pulling away from the kiss. "And ruin all your hard work?" 

"Got a problem with that, Vitya?" Yuuri’s eyes burned into him, hooded and dark under his ebony eyelashes and the sharp line of black over those amber irises. Viktor’s mouth went dry at the sight, nearly swallowing his tongue.

"N-not at all-" Viktor hadn’t even finished his sentence before Yuuri's lips were on him, and mouths crashed together in a frenzied clash of teeth and tongue. Two warm-up jackets were flung on the floor as complementary gasping sighs filled each other's mouths. Hands scrabbled for the tiny, invisible zipper at the base of Viktor's neck, fumbling with the golden buttons of Yuuri's jacket. 

Viktor whined when his belt tightened painfully, the limited space restricting the swell of his cock as heat pooled in his core and between his legs. He wrenched his arms and torso out of the costume, not considering that he should probably be a little gentler with the spandex.

“Vitya, let me?” Yuuri whispered, running his hands over that freshly-revealed chest, his fingers trailing to the hardening peaks of his nipples and rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers. Viktor stilled with a sharp exhale, allowing Yuuri’s hands to smooth the fabric down over his hips, where it fell to his feet in a rippling wave of glossy black and orange. Yuuri’s eyes rolled back at the sight of Viktor’s cock straining against his belt, the ivory material dark where the head of his cock had begun to leak. “This. Off.” He said simply, pulling at the elastic of the belt before pulling the costume jacket off his own shoulders. 

Viktor followed the command mutely, his eyes never departing from the taut form of his fiancé’s body as he pulled his arms free of that jacket, the blush on his cheeks crawling down his throat.

“You’re staring, Vitya.” Yuuri crooned, snapping Viktor’s attention back to those lips, to Yuuri’s eyes that seemed to burn into his bare chest.

“I know.” he replied, crossing the space between them in an instant. cupping Yuuri's cheek in his hand. The soft ghost of Yuuri's name fell from his lips and a matching moaned breath of “Viktor” danced against his mouth as they kissed again.

“W-want you-” Yuuri choked out as he ground his still-clothed cock against Viktor's exposed flesh, whining at the lack of sensation against his own skin. Viktor moaned as he pulled away, tasting the coconut flavor of Yuuri's lipstick, now smeared on his own lips and tongue.

“Well then Yuuri, you made this masterpiece… why don't you make a mess of it?” Viktor rasped, casting a hungry look down at the Japanese skater, whose own eyes had become eclipsed by dark, dilated pupils.

“Then maybe you should get on your knees, Viktor.” Yuuri put a dark emphasis on his name, laying a hand on that broad shoulder, pressing Viktor to his knees, his blue eyes blinking at him through those lush eyelashes. 

“Ruin me.” Viktor whispered, his mouth falling open as Yuuri hooked his fingers into the spandex of his costume trousers and the silken band of his dancer's belt. He hissed as his skin touched the air and Viktor pulled Yuuri's hips toward his face, greedily taking his half-hard cock into his mouth. 

“Oh, _god yes_ , Vii-hiiiiiiktor…” Yuuri slurred messily, his tongue feeling leaden in his mouth. Viktor's ministrations quickly worked him to full hardness, his hands splayed over the flesh of his ass, squeezing and kneading and Yuuri began to slowly roll his hips into his mouth. 

Viktor Nikiforov, fresh off the ice, still faintly warm from his first appearance in a year, was on his knees, sucking Yuuri's dick like it was all that mattered in the world. The man with enough gold on the mantle to fund a small government had fallen to his knees and was moaning around his flesh like it was the most decadent of desserts.

“D-do you like how I taste?" Yuuri stuttered with Viktor's tongue swirling and dancing around his flesh, his lips stretched taut as he buried his nose into Yuuri's pelvis, the tip of him glancing the back of his throat. Viktor pulled off, looking drunk and dazed. The sight of it stoked the fire burning in his stomach, fueling the confidence that had been smoldering since their scores had been announced.

“S-so good, Yuuri, _shit_ , you taste so mmMMMpH-" he was cut off as Yuuri pushed him back down, his throat tightening around Yuuri's dick. Yuuri fisted a handful of that beautiful silver hair, a pained moan rippling from Viktor, vibrating into Yuuri's very core.

"Ah, ah, don't you dare stop, I'm not finished with you, Viiiiitya." Yuuri teased as he began to thrust into his mouth, watching that smudged liner run a little bit around the edges as his eyes watered with the intrusion. The sight of it was nearly too much and Yuuri's edge was quickly approaching. The tight coil of pleasure was compressing unthinkably tighter as Yuuri watched his cock disappear into Viktor's mouth, feeling his slender nose pressed against him with every in stroke.

Then he saw it, that sweet ring of pale pink around the base of his cock. 

The Russian yelped as Yuuri pulled him off by the hair, wrapping the other hand around himself and stroking messily, flicking his wrist just so. Just the way Viktor did when he touched him.

“Y-youu know, Vitya, I think your look is missing something.” Yuuri moaned breathily, his hand gliding over his skin with Viktor's saliva, stroking himself mere inches from his fiancé's flushed skin, the smeared lipstick and running eyeliner.

“Yuuuuuuuuri~” Viktor groaned, desperate and needy as his tongue lolled out of his mouth without thinking, wanting to taste Yuuri again, to feel that heat on his tongue. 

_Viktor Nikiforov_ was kneeled on the floor in front of him, mouth open and chest heaving, and now was stroking his own cock. How many wet dreams had he had just like this? How many times had he taken himself into his own hand with this image in his mind? Thinking of how Viktor might say his name in this context, what his face might look like when lost in pleasure and rolling high on endorphins and sex. This was better than anything he had dreamed, ever imagined on lonely nights in Detroit when Phichit had already gone to bed. But all of this was before he had shown up in the flesh and the world had tilted on a new axis. Viktor was his. 

Stars burst behind his eyes as the first pearly ribbon of come landed on Viktor's right cheekbone, pleasure rolled through the Japanese skater with squeaking recitations of Viktor's name and various translations of 'yes’ and 'please’ in every language Yuuri knew. Viktor palmed himself, rutting into his hand as Yuuri's spend landed in a long stripe over his left eye and into his fringe. The third pulse of come landed in his open mouth and trailed down his chin, a few salty drops splashing on his chest.

“Look at you, so p-pretty, Vitya, so pretty with my come on your face…” Yuuri gasped when he could manage to open his eyes again, his skin screaming with overstimulation. His hand fell away as the radio static in his ears faded. Viktor looked like the sum of every filthy thought he had ever had, flushed and panting, a hand wrapped around himself as he flicked a tongue out to lap up the come he could reach. Yuuri sighed as he saved the mental image for later memory, plucking the facial wipes from his bag and handing one to his fiancé.

“Fuck, Yuuri…” the Russian man cursed in his first language as he swiped away the cooling remnants of Yuuri's pleasure from his skin.

“O-oh my god, I- I'm sorry, I got lost in the moment.” Yuuri hurried to apologize as he came back to himself, realizing what he had said and done.

“Yuuri, it's fine. I really enjoyed that.” Viktor laughed gently as he stood and tossed the used wipe in the trash, his makeup still mostly intact, save for his left eye where he had almost completely removed the smudged liner. “I just hope you haven’t forgotten about me.” He nodded down at the swollen length, so thick and red, twitching between his legs and Yuuri's mind was made up. 

“No, never.” Yuuri said, confidence surging with the adrenaline of competition still sliding through his veins. “Fuck me? Please?” 

“No. Absolutely not. You're skating tomorrow. Off the table.” Viktor snapped into coach mode instantly, any heat in his eyes flash freezing to ice. Yuuri knew what to say to change his mind. Was it underhanded? Yes. Did he want to fuck his coach in the locker room? Also yes. 

“What, worried I'll beat you even with a limp, Nikiforov?” Yuuri asked with his hands on his hips, the confident façade so close to cracking he could feel the tremors of it beneath his skin. His spent body tingled with a wave of fresh heat.

“That's not why!” Viktor huffed, furrowing his brows, his eyes scanning Yuuri's face with the same concern as the time Yuuri had told him he had never had his eyebrows waxed.

“Please?” Yuuri whined softly, closing the distance between them with a gentle, dancing step. “I want to feel you in me, Vitya.” he saw something flash in Viktor's glittering azure eyes as he peered up at him through his thick black lashes.

“One condition.” Viktor said against his ear with tight lips. 

Yuuri's heart skipped. “Anything.” he replied with a whine.

“If you aren't at the top of the podium tomorrow night, this will _never_ happen again.” Viktor whispered, dark and serious, a voice that turned Yuuri inside out.

“As long as you try your hardest to keep me in silver, Viktor.” Yuuri returned, brushing kisses over the sharp line of his jaw. The Russian groaned deep in his chest as he replied simply;

“ _Da._ ” 

Viktor quickly spun Yuuri on his heel and bent him over the small wooden bench, pushing those sinfully tight trousers (and the accursed belt) the rest of the way down his legs and pooling around his ankles, the creamy swell of his ass round and tempting.

“Viktooooorrr~” Yuuri moaned lasciviously, his mahogany eyes begging and wet as he peered over his shoulder at Viktor, towering over him as he dug into a pocket in his bag. He pulled a small bottle from the bag and Yuuri shivered. “Were you planning for this, Vitya?”

“Yuuuuuuuri, I’d have fucked you over the goddamned barrier if I could. I'm your coach but I'm also hopelessly in love with your ass. Of course I have lube in my bag.” Viktor groaned as he uncapped the lube and laid a warm hand in the small of Yuuri's back, the younger man nearly trembling under that touch. Yuuri began to fall apart as Viktor slid the first finger in, and time blurred before his eyes, the heat of Viktor's slick cock prodding at his entrance before he had registered the second and third finger.

“Still so warm and stretched from your performance, love. _God_ , Yuuri, you're too perfect for me…” Viktor moaned at the first breach, Yuuri's body greedily pulling him in. Yuuri buried his mouth in the crook of his elbow, screaming into the soft flesh as Viktor slid home. He gave Yuuri just a single breath to adjust to the intrusion. It was all he needed.

“Hhahh, Vi-hiiitya~” Yuuri squeaked as Viktor began to move, a slow, easy stoke that stole the breath from his lungs.

“God, _fuck_ Yuuri…” Viktor growled, wrapping his hands around Yuuri’s hips before pistoning in earnest, Yuuri mewling and moaning as Viktor dragged along his walls, the lube squelching against his flesh lewd and wet with each thrust. “You looked _-shit-_ so good out there today, s-so fucking perfect!” The Russian felt that heat spreading out under his skin, the squeeze and slide of Yuuri around his cock nearly separating his soul from his body.

“V-Viktor, there, there!” Yuuri cried desperately as his fiancé’s cock brushed against his prostate, his own dick already hard and dripping again. “God! YES!” Yuuri’s moans caught in a tight throat as he arched his back, his spine bending and bowing with the overwhelming sensation of being full of Viktor. He had to bite his tongue when Viktor wrapped a hand around his cock and began to stroke the oversensitive flesh, milking squeaking cries from Yuuri in an endless chanting mantra, tears pearling in the corners of his eyes.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, looking this _hhnnng-_ hot, looking this _gorgeous_ , fuck.” The Japanese man keened under the weight of Viktor’s filthy praise, his second orgasm ripping through him without warning. “And you t-touching my face, and the makeup- ohhhmygod, _Yuu-uuuuuri!_ ” Viktor’s hips stuttered as Yuuri tightened around him, his cock pulsing as he painted Yuuri’s insides white.

Yuuri's whimpering cries petered off to shallow breaths as they came down, Viktor’s growl fading to a sigh. Neither man said anything for a few moments, just basking in the trembling aftershocks. 

“Viktor? Can we take a shower?” Yuuri broke the thick silence, his voice raw and weak. He winced as his fiancé pulled out, the emptiness he left behind felt like a loss. But sweat still clung to him and now a few other fluids were making him feel uncomfortable and sticky. “Feel gross.”

“Of course.” Viktor whispered hoarsely, easing Yuuri out of his bent posture and pulling him into his arms. They slowly made their way to the large shower stall, Viktor quickly turning the tap to Yuuri’s preferred temperature, 'mildly scalding’. 

“Congratulations on a flawless performance, _moya zvezda_. I’m so proud of you.” Viktor murmured as Yuuri gently swiped away the messy remainders of his makeup, his skin pinking with the hot water.

“Thank you, Vitya.” Yuuri smiled, beginning to remove his own makeup. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.” Viktor caught his hands with a soft request in his eyes. _’May I?’_ Yuuri nodded as his smile widened, handing Viktor a wipe.

“And I wouldn't have beaten you without those crucial presentation points.” Viktor teased with a wink as he began to gently rub away the makeup, Yuuri humming happily at the soft touch from his Vitya. The wipe was quickly blackened with eyeliner, a bit still smeared over Yuuri’s lid, the gold shimmer glittering in his eyebrows.

“Yuuri, if I teach you my skincare routine, can you do it for me? Every day?” Viktor asked as they stood under the spray together, dancing soft fingertips over rosy flesh.

“I’d love to, Vitya.” Yuuri mumbled into Viktor’s shoulder, resting his head against the sharp outline of his collarbone.

“And my makeup? Can you do my makeup too? For the Free skate?” 

“I'd love to, Vitya.” Yuuri chuckled softly, nuzzling into the warmth of his fiancé's skin.

**V**

_image: a candid photo of the three finalists of Skate America 2017 laughing together on the podium, Katsuki Yuuri, a gold medal wrapped around his neck, is covering his mouth with his right hand, clearly laughing at something the bronze medallist, Christophe Giacometti said, as silver medallist, Viktor Nikiforov looks on with a tight-lipped frown, his arms crossed over his chest. Both Viktor's and Yuuri's rings are visible in the photo, golden and glittering in the bright stadium lights, their scores displayed in the background. Yuuri took gold by a margin of less than a point._

 **89,546 likes**  
**v-nikiforov** see you at the #TropheedeFrance, Katsuki! 🥈💙⛸️  
#silver #notreallymad #stillwongold #soproud #proudfiancé #proudcoach #katsukiyuuri #omedetou #gps2017 

**yuri-plisetsky** HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA  
**christophe.gc** it was a pleasure sharing a podium with you again, mon ami! who did your makeup? you looked fantastic ❤  
**v-nikiforov** @christophe.gc Yuuri did! He did a beautiful job, no?  
**katsuki.yuuri** @chrisophe.gc Did Viktor tell you to ask that?  
**christophe.gc** @katsuki.yuuri maaaaybe 😘  
**viktor-step-on-me** if you don't want that silver medal, you can always wrap me around your neck 😉  
**phichit+chu** @katsuki.yuuri what did chris say this time? 😂  
**christophe.gc** that's for him to know and you to find out, mon cher 😘  
**katsudamn** i don't care what he said, that smile just too pure for this world #gold #beautiful #yuurimarrymeinstead  
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**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I got a little carried away writing this, I won’t lie. I was planning to write a 4k, maybe 4.5k fic with the prompt for boys in makeup and some smut, but… oops. This happened. ANYWAY! Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Drop a kudos if you liked it, say hi in the comments, follow me on Twitter or Tumblr for sneak peeks, fanart reblogs/RTs and update news! <3
> 
> ❤️ IA ❤️  
> [Tumblr](https://incandescentantelope.tumblr.com) | [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/IAtheAuthor)


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